


I Am On The Mend

by old_gods_of_asgard



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe
Genre: Gen, and soup mugs are readily available, heroes are heroes, stupid family friendly chatting, welcome to the internet, where men are men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 00:30:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/old_gods_of_asgard/pseuds/old_gods_of_asgard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both had lost their homes, and Clint had confided once that he felt like a forced anachronism. Steve had nodded solemnly and said nothing because he didn’t need to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Am On The Mend

**Author's Note:**

> So I hammered this little thing out over the course of an hour. I've wanted to use the title for a little while now and needed to get back into the swing of writing after a long and stressful period. Hope you guys enjoy.

Clint crouched down with one arm wrapped around the vertical guardrail and the other resting on the horizontal bar connected to it. His eyes searched the city, looked for anything of note, anything to distract him. He wasn’t a broken man, not like the doctors insisted, not like his team treated him. If something went down in the city tonight, he wanted to be there, he wanted to know. 

Six months. Six months had passed since Loki attacked the city and the Avengers had officially formed. Six months had passed since Steve’s Great American Road Trip. Six months had passed since they had all assembled, sort of. Six months had passed since...since, well, Clint tried not to think about Coulson too much these days, since the aftermath was never very pretty.

Six months had passed since Fury had shaken his head, given him one of his rare, caring looks and pat him on the shoulder. He’d told Clint to take a break, to go on vacation. Clint had laughed like it had been funny, a really funny joke, and said _I am on vacation_. Fury had said that wasn’t what he meant. Clint didn’t try to argue.

And now, so much later-Clint had settled down. Kind of. He was still a part of the Avengers, still a card-carrying member of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. That didn’t stop the cut off. It didn’t stop the cold looks or Hill suggesting that he cut himself off, build an outside support system. She’d used those words so easily and they both knew what she meant: find a new family. It wasn’t meant to be cruel. It wasn’t meant to hurt. She was looking out for his best intentions when she’d said it, he’d known.

It didn’t help.

So now here was Clint. Six months later, in the cold November air, waiting. He couldn’t tell what it was he was waiting on, not if asked, and he tried to make excuses for it. Maybe he was waiting on some action, anticipating the drop and the moment chaos reared it’s beautifully ugly head. Maybe he was waiting on Thor’s valiant return so he could hear all about what nasty punishments Loki was receiving back in Asgard. Was it so wrong, he wondered, for him to take joy in that? Was it bizarre for him to hope for it, daydream about it even? Loki had, after all, stolen everything from him. He was the reason Clint was relying on the generosity of one Anthony Stark to survive, not that Tony had any problem providing it. Loki had yanked the rug from under Clint’s feet and now he was struggling to pull it back. It was easier said than done.

Clint was normally an abnormal level of hyper aware, but he was too wrapped in his own thoughts to notice Steve sneaking up on him. Steve Rogers, the great Captain America. Another reminder of what Clint had lost, and one he couldn’t simply chuck out.

But the great thing about Steve, the greatest thing even, was that Steve knew. He knew all about being compromised and being broken-not that Clint was, or at least not that he was admitting he was-and he knew loss. It was a common language in their little group, Clint had grown to realize. Tony had lost so much wasting time devoting himself to recklessness. Natasha had lost so much when she defected with Clint. Bruce had willingly lost it all but that didn’t make his shortcomings sting any less. And Thor had lost first his kingdom, then his brother when he managed to get that back.

But Steve and Clint had their losses in common. They’d lost their parents. Clint lost Barney and Jacques and Buck. Steve had lost Peggy and Bucky and Howard. Both had lost their homes, and Clint had confided once that he felt like a forced anachronism. Steve had nodded solemnly and said nothing because he didn’t need to.

And now Steve had sought him out. Clint relaxed and lowered himself to the balcony ground, keeping his arms still hooked on the bars for grounding and support. “Hi,” he offered, as Steve passed him a mug. It was larger than standard and the liquid inside was definitely not tea or coffee.

“Soup.” Steve replied simply as Clint sniffed it. “Old recipe. I got it from Jim. He, uh, his mom used to make this for him whenever he wasn’t feeling well. He said it always picked him right up.”

“I feel just fine,” Clint replied. It was half true. He wasn’t physically ill, it was his thoughts that were plagued. Steve shook his head and smiled because he knew better than to believe it. “I’m just a little tired.”

“No, you aren’t.” Steve sipped at his own concoction, smiling a little. Unlike Clint, he was appropriately dressed for the time of night. Clint sighed and sipped, too, though a bit more tentatively than Steve had. It didn’t taste too bad, really.

“What’s in this?” Steve shrugged. “No, really, what’s in this?”

Steve grinned at him and took another, longer sip. “I’m afraid that information is top secret.” He replied. Clint rolled his eyes and drank some more as Steve started to kick his legs back and forth. “Maybe one day, though.”

Clint nodded and returned his gaze to the city. Steve’s company wasn’t so bad, since it distracted him from his thoughts. “It’s not so bad here.”

“I think he tries a little too hard sometimes,” Steve countered, and Clint knew he meant Tony, “I don’t think he understands that “less is more”.”

“Down to earth isn’t really his favorite mood, to be frank.” Steve chuckled in agreement and Clint felt stupidly proud.

“Touché.” Steve was quiet for a few minutes longer, then said, “I have to ask, what’s it like?”

“What’s what like?”

“Not knowing.” Steve nodded his head toward the stars. Now he was talking about Loki. Clint had made no secret about his hope for a painful, lengthy punishment. He hadn’t set out to make it personal, but he really couldn’t help it. “Sorry. You don’t have to if you don’t want, I just-”

“It sucks. It fucking sucks.” Clint shrugged. “I can’t help but wish for the worst. He’s got...there’s blood on his hands. Blood that won’t ever wash out. Blood he won’t ever be man or Asgardian or what fucking ever to pay for.”

“Can’t say I find it in me to disagree with that.”

Clint grinned at that. “Didn’t think you were the unforgiving type.”

“I can be if I need to be.”

“Good to know.”

Steve reached out a hand and patted Clint’s knee. “You aren’t alone, you know. Just. If you need me.” Clint didn’t turn to look at him but did not. “I won’t turn you away.”

“I know.” Clint returned, not quite ready to talk yet. Steve understood this. He wouldn’t push, like Tony would, being outright obnoxious about it. Or the way Nat or Bruce would, trying their hardest to be subtle and the while wishing he’d just spill his guts for them and get it over with. He wouldn’t be like the SHIELD shrinks, trying to force him into the fetal position so he could cry about very injustice all the way back to his father. Steve was going to wait, to be patient with him. He was going to be there for him.

And really, that was all Clint needed.


End file.
